


Doxa

by scorpcollector96 (alwaysthedeepestblue)



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:51:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9637685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysthedeepestblue/pseuds/scorpcollector96
Summary: On forgiveness, and fluff.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First post, and it's not really a fanfic of anything. Just trying to flex the (crappy) writing muscles after two long years.

They laugh. It's been a good conversation so far, but she's running out of things to say, and he looks quite busy. She rubs the back of her neck, and realises that his eyes are lingering on her raised arm. She quickly lowers her hands to her lap, but it's too late.

He frowns at her and leans closer, reaching out for her hand. She resists at first, but he holds her cold hands, and allows her to relax before tugging her left arm towards him, so he can see. Their knees knock together from the proximity.

She averts her eyes in shame: she isn't proud of what she does to herself. She tries pulling her arm back, out of complete embarrassment, and opens her mouth to protest the way he's holding her in place, but stops when she hears his sharp inhale.

Was it surprise? Horror? Disgust?

His gaze hardens as he examines the damage. Finally, he lets out a long, weary sigh. She feels the warmth of his breath on her wrist. Something changes. He lowers his face to her arm, and before she can ask, his lips touch her scars— she stops struggling. She closes her eyes.

"You don't have to," she says, her hoarse voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't have to," he agrees, in between kisses.

He pauses. "I'm sorry."

She relaxes out of confusion. "Why are you apologising? It... It isn't your fault."

He tears his gaze away from the dark red lines, the faded scars, the newer marks, the mess of verticals on her skin. "I know," he says, tugging her hand upward to caress his cheek. His eyes are filled with sadness. "But I'm still sorry for the pain you go through." He intertwines their fingers and leans toward her touch. She looks away again.

He sighs and pulls her closer, covering the inches between them. He wraps his arms around her, whether she wants it or not— because he knows that she needs it the most right now. "It isn't your fault either, you know," he tells her.

She doesn't answer, but he can feel her trembling.

He keeps her in his arms, long after she stops crying.


End file.
